


Enough

by orphan_account



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Give Lucy Preston A Break, Hurt Lucy Preston, Hurt No Comfort, Multi, Post-Canon, Therapy, drabble?, i don't know how therapy works please don't sue me, i was depressed and wrote this, mostly canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lucy Preston never thought she needed therapy.





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> hello i know it has been ages  
> i can only apologise  
> please stay safe, y'all: this deals with some pretty serious lucy issues and also mentions flynn's "sacrifice" that i'm still livid about. just say you hate interesting characters and go.  
> [not proof-read or beta'd. this is crap. enjoy!]  
> \- trin <3

The waiting room is clean, almost clinical, but through the frosted glass window on the doctor’s door she can see warm, dark wood and red curtains. It’s a habit she’d had to pick up while traversing time and space, while fighting people that claimed her as their own flesh and blood. While losing her own team, her own friends, her new family. The only family that mattered.  
And yet, after all was said and done, they’d split apart. Wyatt had eventually been reassigned after Jess had been killed again. Denise was still working the case, picking up leads, compiling report after report after report until they could have filled the entire bunker with just paperwork. Rufus and Jiya had started their own company, and Mason was consulting for them. Flynn...  
Flynn.  
“Miss Preston? Come on in.”  
She enters the doctor’s room. She’s right, of course - dark wood, red curtains, white walls, bookshelves, potted plants. It feels more like a room at the university than a therapist’s office. She supposes that it’s on purpose, but she still finds herself cataloguing escape routes and potential weapons.  
“Miss Preston?” The doctor’s saying. She’s five eight, well dressed, and tanned. Dark hair falls in a tumble of curls to around her waist. She’s the kind of woman that Lucy would have been interested in, before everything happened. “Are you alright?”  
Lucy sits down, still wary. “Yeah, I’m fine. This is just to get my… my sister. Off my back.”  
The doctor frowns slightly. “Your sister?”  
“Yeah, she’s nagging at me to get help.”  
“And here you are.” The doctor says.  
“And here I am.” Lucy replies.  
The doctor’s silent for a long moment. Lucy takes the time to control her breathing.  
“What would you like to talk about?”  
Lucy can’t help the slightly manic laugh that bubbles out of her lips. “I can’t talk about a lot of it. Like, I literally cannot talk about it. Secret government stuff. But… I just. I need to talk to somebody. I can’t just sit at home and hope for it to work itself out.”  
“Do you live alone, Miss Preston?”  
The question is almost jarring. “Yeah.”  
The doctor nods, and writes something down. “Is there no-one that you can stay with? Or than can stay with you?”  
Lucy shakes her head.  
“You had a team, right?”  
“They’ve all gone. All of them. They’re all living lives now, and I’m still the same old college professor. The one person that I really needed, he… he died. He gave his life to save all of ours.” Lucy can’t help the way her lip shakes. That tears are suddenly blurring her vision. “He gave his life, and no-one cared. They toasted him and moved on. They said they…that they did care. Well, Rufus and Jiya did. But not. Not like me.”  
The doctor’s impassive face crumples slightly.  
“They didn’t love him. And he knew that, so he. He got himself killed. One… one of us wasn’t enough, was it? I wasn’t enough?”  
She’s really crying now, ugly sobs that wrack her chest and constrict her breathing. She hears heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and suddenly arms are holding her. Well-dressed, strong arms, and a voice murmurs sweet nothings into her hair. It almost slams her back into a cold alleyway in 1888.  
“I wasn’t enough.”


End file.
